


What Pumpkin? These Pumpkins.

by KittyMotor



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Humanstuck, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 14:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyMotor/pseuds/KittyMotor
Summary: Dave has never carved a pumpkin. It's fall. Karkat needs to fix it.





	What Pumpkin? These Pumpkins.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> First fic.  
> What can I say? Fall is my favorite and everyone needs some seasonal fluff.  
> Rated T for language.  
> For my boyfriend.

I blow my unruly curls out of my eyes as I stare up at this smug asshole, crossing my arms for emphasis.   
“So you’re fucking telling me you’ve never- and I mean never carved a pumpkin before?” I tap my fingers on my bicep and glare up at him as he just smoothly shakes his head at me. Fucker. “Dave what in the actual hell was your childhood like- actually I already know, so don’t bother answering, you dick. Better question: Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”   
“I jus’ didn’t think it was that important, babe,” He drawled, raising his hands in defeat, “If it’s really that important to you we can do it.” He must have seen the way my eyes lit up as he said that, because he placed his hands on my shoulders to pull me into a hug. I hug him back and nod, not caring if my hair gets more mussed in the front of his shirt. “You’re gonna have to show me what to do, though, ‘Kat. I’m a mere novice, and you’re my teacher meant to show me the ways of art. Pumpkin carving is a skill only taught by masters and I would be shameful if I were to say I’m not completely honored at the prospect of being able to witness your genius first hand. Move out of the way, Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, and Raphael-”  
“Okay that’s enough,” I push myself out of his arms, “Also do you only know those artists because of fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” I scoff at him as he places a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. I raise my hand to his face as he opens his mouth for what I can only assume to be another Striderian spiel of pure garbage. “Save it, Splinter-”  
“Yo, the rat? Really?”  
“- and get your fucking shoes on and a goddamn coat; I don’t need you freezing your bony, Texan ass off and complaining the whole damn time we’re out.” I throw his ratty red converse at him before moving to get my own stuff.   
By the time we get to the local market/ pumpkin patch Dave is already shivering, despite having a coat, mittens, a scarf, a hat, a hoodie under his coat, and a watered-down hot chocolate.   
“Karkles, how the hell are you not freezing with just a hoodie?” He looks me up and down, frankly looking ridiculous bundled head to toe and wearing his stupid shades.   
“Because, Dave, I’m not a pussy-” I turn my head as I hear a woman voice disgust. I roll my eyes, muttering “Suck my fucking dick.” I feel an arm snake around my back and suddenly there’s hot breath in my ear.  
“Woah, babe, that’s my job.”  
I sputter and blush, pushing Dave off of me,  
“Oh fuck off, bastard-” I exhale sharply, hearing his breathy laugh behind me as I make my way into the pumpkin patch, half-heartedly appraising the various gourds. I look behind me to find Dave carefully stepping around each pumpkin, an I can see his eyes squinting behind his glasses as he judges them critically. I walk back over to him and grab his hand, pulling him over to the bigger fruits. “Come on, you clearly have no idea what you’re doing.” I step up to a decently-sized pumpkin and squat to get a better look, turning it which way and that. “See, this has a flat side which would be pretty easy to get a face on, but-” I knock on it. It barely makes a sound. “- it isn’t ripe yet. It’ll be a bitch to carve.” Dave lets out a small hum before moving to an oblong-shaped and fairly large gourd, leaves and dried vines crunching under his feet. He looks at it and twists it around, swiping dried dirt off one of the sides. He looks up at me and I make my way to him. I knock on the side of the pumpkin, allowing an easy smile to spread across my face as it makes a hollow sound. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a winner.” I can’t help but feel a warmth bloom in my chest seeing him smirk triumphantly. I place a kiss on his cheek, “You’re a natural,” I state before finding my own pumpkin. It’s big and squat- as Dave describes it, “a pumpkin-ass-pumpkin.”   
It doesn’t take long to pay and get back to the apartment, where we happily shuck off our layers and put a kettle on for tea and hot chocolate. I instruct Dave to put newspapers down on the table and put the pumpkins up while I place two bowls down- one for seeds and the other for guts- and dig out a few spoons and knives. I bring out two mugs to find Dave looking like an artist staring down a blank canvas. I hand him his hot chocolate and grab some sharpies, barely hearing his thanks. I drop his marker next to his pumpkin before sitting down in front of mine, mouthing the end as I think about what I want. He taps his feet on the floor in some rhythm before shoving his shades into his hair and digging out his phone. Before long we’re both drawing our own designs and sipping our drinks to some new artist I’ve never heard of. It isn’t until I reach for my knife that I see a faraway look in Dave’s eyes, a thousand-yard-stare through where he’s reaching for, past the table, into space. During a lull in the music I hear his breathing, shallow and faster than usual. I reach past the knives and place my hand on his and his head shoots up to look at me, eyes focusing and searching my face for something, I can’t tell what.   
“You good, sunshine?” I ask softly, not really caring that concern is lacing my voice. He swallows thickly and nods, pulling his hand away back towards the knives. He hesitates before grabbing one, zoning in and focusing on just that. I watch him carefully as I pick up my own and stand to allow myself a better angle for opening the top, but as the chair legs scrape against the floor he drops his blade and retracts his arm, holding it against himself as if he’d been burned by it. His breathing quickens again and his eyes are wide with fear; I can barely see him shaking. I put my knife back onto the table and quickly make my way to him, kneeling next to his chair and taking his hands. “Dave, babe, hey, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t respond until I reach up and cup his face, leading him to look at me. “What is it?” I graze my thumb on his scarred cheek gently, watching him try to decide between looking at me and back at the table. I take his hand back in my own and lead him into holding me so I can hug him, rubbing his back gently in slow, soft circles. “How about we move to the couch, okay?” I ask gently and I can barely feel him nod in the crook of my neck. I lift him from the chair and carry him into the next room, not bothering grabbing our phones. I set him down onto the cushions and grab a blanket before sitting next to him and wrapping us up in it, holding him close to me. I don’t ask questions, but I hum to fill the silence. Time passes for I don’t know how long until he falls asleep on me, breaths evening out and grip around my torso loosening. I watch two nature documentaries before deciding to get back up, snaking my way out of Dave’s grip slowly as to not disturb him. I stretch before walking back over to the pumpkins, surveying both of our designs. I thought mine was pretty cool: a face made of jagged and sharp lines making it look as if it were laughing. I snort when I look at Dave’s: a strange and contorted version of one of his character’s faces. Sweet Bro or Hella Jeff I have no damn idea. I carve mine first, separating out the seeds from the inner guts and occasionally wiping the face clean with paper towel. I do Dave’s second and place them near the front door once I finish. I toss the pumpkin guts and other trash and start cleaning the seeds in a colander. I don’t hear footsteps over the sink and I shout when hands snake around my midsection.  
“I can’t believe you left me all alone on the couch, babe; you’re breaking my poor little heart.” Dave mumbles into my ear as he slouches to hold me tighter. I contort myself in his grip enough to peck him on the cheek before flicking water on his face to get him to let go.  
“Let me fucking finish, you drama queen, I’m almost done.”  
“But baaaaaaaaaaaaabe,” he whines, “I’m so lonely.” He slumps on top of me and groans into my shoulder.  
“You fell asleep, you idiot, and you were making my side cramp from holding you.” I shrug him off and transfer the seeds into a clean bowl, throwing butter, salt, and pepper in and mix them together. “Give me another half hour and then we can watch a movie, okay?” He groans again and leans into the counter and I roll my eyes. “In the meantime make a pillow fort, pic something out, and change into pajamas. Make yourself useful for once.”   
“Ouch, dude.” He shuffles into the other room and calls out, “if this pillow fort fucking blows it’s your fault for leaving me to do all the work.” I scoff and wash my hands, putting the seeds in the oven and setting a timer. “How about you help me while you wait for those?”   
“What’s in it for me if I help, huh?” I ask as I lean in the doorway, watching him fumble with setting up some sort of structure. He strides to where I stand and leans over me, smiling in a cocky manner.  
“How about if you help me you can pick out the movie and we can make out the whole time?” I guffaw and place a hand on his chest, smirking back up at him.  
“What’s the point of me picking the movie if we won’t even watch it?”  
“You get to make out with me, and that’s pretty damn nice I think.” He leans down and kisses me fully, pulling me closer by my hips. Time blurs as we kiss until the timer goes off and I pull away. I huff a laugh as he tries pulling me back in.  
“Snakefucker, let me flip these and then I’ll help you make the goddamn fort, okay?” I push him off of me and make my way back into the kitchen. He whines and tries to follow me, but I look up at him, pointing an accusatory finger and say, “but I’m only helping if you get your ass in there and also keep your end of the deal, got it?” He smiles at me and cleanly turns on his heel, walking back into the living room with a salute.  
“Got it.”


End file.
